by H. B. Fyfe
briefly since Henry _had_told him the story before.
"I often wonder what became of him," mused the older man. "That's thetrouble with what's left of Earth culture--no families any more."
_Now he'll tell about the time he lived in a crowd of five, thoughtRobert. He, his wife, their boy and the visiting couple with the fleetof robot helicopters._
Deciding that Henry could reminisce just as well without a listener,Robert quietly ordered the robot to turn itself off.
_Maybe I will make the trip_, he pondered, on the way downstairs, _ifonly to see what it's like with another person about_.
At about noon of the second day after that, he remembered that thoughtwith regret.
The ancient roads, seldom used and never repaired, were rough andbumpy. Having no flying robots, Robert was compelled to transporthimself and a few mechanical servants in ground vehicles. Hehad--idiotically, he now realized--started with the dawn, and wasalready tired.
Consequently, he was perhaps unduly annoyed when two tiny spy-eyesflew down from the hills to hover above his caravan on whirring littlepropellers. He tried to glance up pleasantly while their lensestelevised pictures to their base, but he feared that his smile wasstrained.
The spy-eyes retired after a few minutes. Robert's vehicle, at hisvoiced order, turned onto a road leading between two forested hills.
_Right there_, he thought four hours later, _was where I made mymistake. I should have turned back and gone home!_
He stood in the doorway of a small cottage of pale blue trimmed withyellow, watching his robots unload baggage. They were supervised byBlue Two, the spare for Blue One.
* * * * *
Also watching, as silently as Robert, was a pink-and-blue stripedrobot which had guided the caravan from the entrance gate to thecottage. After one confused protest in a curiously high voice, it hadnot spoken.
_Maybe we shouldn't have driven through that flower bed_, thoughtRobert. _Still, the thing ought to be versatile enough to say so. Iwouldn't have such a gimcrack contraption!_
He looked up as another humanoid robot in similar colors approachedalong the line of shrubs separating the main lawns from thatsurrounding the cottage.
"Marcia-Joan has finished her nap. You may come to the house now."
Robert's jaw hung slack as he sought for a reply. His face flushed atthe idea of a robot's offering _him_ permission to enter the house.
Nevertheless, he followed it across the wide lawn and between banks ofgaily blossoming flowers to the main house. Robert was not sure whichcolor scheme he disliked more, that of the robot or the unemphaticpastel tints of the house.
The robot led the way inside and along a hall. It pulled back acurtain near the other end, revealing a room with furniture for humanuse. Robert stared at the girl who sat in an armchair, clad in a longrobe of soft, pink material.
She looked a few years younger than he. Her hair and eyes were alsobrown, though darker. In contrast to Robert's, her smooth skin wasonly lightly tanned, and she wore her hair much longer. He thought heroval face might have been pleasant if not for the analyticalexpression she wore.
"I am quite human," he said in annoyance. "Do you have a voice?"
She rose and walked over to him curiously. Robert saw that she wasseveral inches shorter than he, about the height of one of his robots.He condescended to bear her scrutiny.
"You look just as you do on the telescreen," she marveled.
Robert began to wonder if the girl were feeble-minded. How else shouldhe look?
"I usually swim at this hour," he said to change the subject. "Whereis the pool?"
Marcia-Joan stared at him.
"Pool of what?" she asked.
Sensing sarcasm, he scowled. "Pool of water, of course! To swim in.What did you think I meant--a pool of oil?"
"I am not acquainted with your habits," retorted the girl.
"None of that stupid wit!" he snapped. "Where is the pool?"
"Don't shout!" shouted the girl. Her voice was high and unpleasantlyshrill compared with his. "I don't have a pool. Who wants a swimmingpool, anyway?"
Robert felt his face flushing with rage.
_So she won't tell me!_ he thought. _All right, I'll find it myself.Everybody has a pool. And if she comes in, I'll hold her head underfor a while!_
Sneering, he turned toward the nearest exit from the house. The gailystriped robot hastened after him.
* * * * *
The door failed to swing back as it should have at Robert's approach.Impatiently, he seized the ornamental handle. He felt his shouldergrasped by a metal hand.
"Do not use the front door!" said the robot.
"Let go!" ordered Robert, incensed that any robot should presume tohinder him.
"Only Marcia-Joan uses this door," said the robot, ignoring Robert'sdispleasure.
"I'll use it if I like!" declared Robert, jerking the handle.
The next moment, he was lifted bodily into the air. By the time herealized what was happening, he was carried, face down, along thehall. Too astonished even to yell, he caught a glimpse ofMarcia-Joan's tiny feet beneath the hem of her pink robe as his headpassed the curtained doorway.
The robot clumped on to the door at the rear of the house and out intothe sunshine. There, it released its grip.
When Robert regained the breath knocked out of him by the drop, andassured himself that no bones were broken, his anger returned.
"I'll find it, wherever it is!" he growled, and set out to search thegrounds.
About twenty minutes later, he was forced to admit that there reallywas no swimming pool. Except for a brook fifty yards away, there wasonly the tiled bathroom of the cottage to bathe in.
"Primitive!" exclaimed Robert, eying this. "Manually operated watersupply, too! I must have the robots fix something better fortomorrow."
Since none of his robots was equipped with a thermometer, he had todraw the bath himself. Meanwhile, he gave orders to Blue Two regardingthe brook and a place to swim. He managed to fill the tub withoutscalding himself mainly because there was no hot water. Hisirritation, by the time he had dressed in fresh clothes and preparedfor another talk with his hostess, was still lively.
"Ah, you return?" Marcia-Joan commented from a window above the backdoor.
"It is time to eat," said Robert frankly.
"You are mistaken."
He glanced at the sunset, which was already fading.
"It _is_ time," he insisted. "I always eat at this hour."
"Well, I don't."
Robert leaned back to examine her expression more carefully. He feltvery much the way he had the day the water-supply robot for his poolhad broken down and, despite Robert's bellowed orders, had flooded agood part of the lawn before Blue One had disconnected it. Someinstinct warned him, moreover, that bellowing now would be as uselessas it had been then.
"What _do_ you do now?" he asked.
"I dress for the evening."
"And when do you eat?"
"After I finish dressing."
"I'll wait for you," said Robert, feeling that that much tolerancecould do no particular harm.
He encountered the pink-and-blue robot in the hall, superintendingseveral plain yellow ones bearing dishes and covered platters. Robertfollowed them to a dining room.
"Marcia-Joan sits there," the major-domo informed him as he movedtoward the only chair at the table.
* * * * *
Robert warily retreated to the opposite side of the table and lookedfor another chair. None was visible.
_Of course_, he thought, trying to be fair. _Why should anybody inthis day have more than one chair? Robots don't sit._
He waited for the major-domo to leave, but it did not. The servingrobots finished laying out the dishes and retired to posts along thewall. Finally, Robert decided that he would have to make his statusclear or risk going hungry.
_If I sit down somewhere_, he decided,
_it may recognize me as human.What a stupid machine to have!_
He started around the end of the table again, but the striped robotmoved to intercept him. Robert stopped.
"Oh, well," he sighed, sitting sidewise on a corner of the table.
The robot hesitated, made one or two false starts in differentdirections, then halted. The situation had apparently not beenincluded among its memory tapes. Robert grinned and lifted the coverof the nearest platter.
He managed to eat, despite his ungraceful position and what heconsidered the scarcity of the food. Just as he finished the lastdish, he heard footsteps in the hall.
Marcia-Joan had dressed in a fresh robe, of crimson. Its thinnermaterial was gathered at the waist by clasps of gleaming gold. Thearrangement emphasized bodily contours Robert had previously seen onlyin historical films.
He